


The Ballad of Balthazar Jones

by untiltheveryend



Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Balthazar Jones is in love with Pedro Donaldson in this fic, Character Study, Pining, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untiltheveryend/pseuds/untiltheveryend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the story of Balthazar Jones is a ballad of scraped knees and crooked smiles, the story of Perdro and Bath is all the things you thought you knew, but really didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Balthazar Jones

**Author's Note:**

> So the latest two episodes of LoLiLo have wrecked me forever and I had to write down some feelings that I had about Balthazar Jones.
> 
> I wrote this as self therapy and it hasn't been beta'd so sorry for any mistakes or inconsistencies.
> 
> These characters belong to the Candle Wasters, not I. Title taken from a similarly-named chapter in the very lovely book [Beanstalk by E. Jade Lomax](http://ejadelomax.com/leaguesandlegends/beanstalk/).

Balthazar Jones knows that he has never been the strong one. When he was six years old, he would get pushed over by the girl neighbours for asking to join in their game.

‘You’re a boy, you can’t play fairies,’ they would jeer. 

The words had stung more than his scraped knee as he sat quietly on the curb and watched his big sister defend him. Rosa had a sharp tongue even then. If there is anything Balthazar has ever been sure of, it’s that his big sister is on his side.

None of us ever see the parts of ourselves that are most beautiful.

‘Oh, Stanley,’ Rosa would sigh, when he came home from his after-school music lesson with bruises blooming across his skin. The world said ‘No’ to Balthazar Jones, and he looked back at it and said ‘Why not?’.

Balth has a voice like an angel, but an angel who had chain smoked the nights away when he was young. A boy Balth knew once told him that. He had been staring at his shoes when he mumbled a ‘Thanks’ that he wasn’t sure how to mean.

The world is a scary place to be yourself. Balthazar is not the kind to shout things from the rooftops. He is quiet and unassuming. When the world tells him to change who he is, he smiles and nods. And then he quietly does the things they told him not to. 

Balthazar Jones has spent his entire life surrounded by noisy people, starting from the ground up. He likes the way they fill up the corners of a conversation, but he hates the way they drown him out. 

He tries to stay grateful.

 

It is hard for Balth to remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Pedro Donaldson. Sometimes it feels more like a fact of life than a crush. A nearly-pleasant ache that lives under his ribcage. He feels it when he breathes, and when he smiles. 

If the story of Balthazar Jones is a ballad of scraped knees and crooked smiles, the story of Perdro and Bath is all the things you thought you knew, but really didn’t. It’s walking down the same set of stairs you’ve walked down all your life and realising there’s one more step than you thought. It’s the sickening swoop of your stomach in the split second when you fall, unchecked. 

Balth hates to watch people hurt. He picks up his ukulele and tries to fix it, that is just what he does. Nothing gets lost, that way.

There are some things that even he can’t fix. Pedro Donaldson is not something Balthazar can fix, or even understand most days. He listens to Ben on Skype with Beatrice in the next room and thinks, _this_ I understand. 

Balthazar Jones is very good at feeling small. He goes to lunch with Rosa at a fancy restaurant she picked, and all he wants to do is tuck his feet up underneath him and pull his sleeves down over his fists. 

When he is with Pedro he feels huge, too big for his body. He burst at his seams like there is something inside of him that feels the need to escape. It is intoxicating, riveting. It is all consuming. If he spends too long thinking about it, he is afraid he will drown in it.

There are days when Balthazar thinks he might be happy to drown in Pedro. 

There are days when he hates that about himself.

Balthazar Jones knows that he is not brave. After all, nobody has ever told him otherwise. If he was brave, he wouldn’t be writing songs about unrequited love and holding hands with boys whose voices do not make him shiver. He would be telling the world - telling _Pedro_. 

It doesn’t occur to him that he is a different kind of brave.

Balthazar Jones keeps his thoughts to himself, most days. He used to sit in the bay window at his parents house, with their old cat curled up in his lap, and whisper his secrets to the clouds. 

And yet everyone knows that Balth has had a thing for Pedro since, like, year 9. (It was before that, actually, but that is his secret to keep.) Everyone except Pedro, of course. 

But here is what they don’t know.

They don’t know that Balth is terrified of himself sometimes, of the way that he gets turned inside out by his own feelings. They don’t know that he used to curl up in his bed at night and think about what it would be like to kiss a boy, and then bury his face in his pillow with a kind of shame.

They don’t know that Balth doesn’t just have a thing for Pedro, oh _no_.

Balthazar Jones thinks he is a coward because he can’t bring himself to look Pedro in the eye and tell him, but he never considers the fact that maybe it is brave enough to simply keep loving, even when it scares him.

Oh, how Balth wishes he wasn’t the kind of person who loved so easy. Wishes that he didn’t know, just _know_ , that the simple act of not being loved back would be enough to break more than just his heart.

And, oh, how he wishes he could stop loving Pedro Donaldson.

 

The Ballad of Balthazar Jones is not one Balth knows yet, because it is not yet fully written. But there are some things that he knows for sure. 

Balthazar sits in tiny cafes and drinks tea because somehow, in the years that they have know each other, Ben has slipped his way under Balth’s skin. He used to like coffee, and he still does, but sometimes he drinks tea and smiles.

Balthazar Jones writes his assignments early, but he doesn’t turn them in until the last possible moment. When he sits in front of his computer he tucks his feet up under himself and feels small compared to the words he is writing.

Balthazar misses his parents. He doesn’t call them every day, but he feels the empty space he is used to them filling. He does his chores, uncomplaining, because it reminds him of them. 

Pedro Donaldson is probably the love of his life. Balth doesn’t know for sure, doesn’t think it’s possible to know for sure, but he is pretty damn certain. He wonders if his story is a tragedy. Ben would like that, he thinks. Ben likes stories no matter the ending, but Balthazar likes Happily Ever Afters. 

Balthazar Jones doesn’t know if he is destined to be happy. 

He isn’t sure if he likes the idea of destiny.

But when you have small hands and scarped knees, when the world likes to drown you out and you aren’t sure how to keep breathing-

_When you are Balthazar Jones-_

Do you have a choice?

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr.](http://ellianderjoy.tumblr.com/)


End file.
